


Secret

by needtosleepawhile



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Trigger warning TRICHOTILLOMANIA, fluff i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needtosleepawhile/pseuds/needtosleepawhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has a problem looked down upon by dwarves as shameful, and he finally confides in Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever project your problems onto a character?  
> And do you suddenly feel closer to he character because of it?  
> I do it a lot.

"What are you doing?"

Thorin jumped back from the mirror, dropped his away arms from his head to sides, and whipped around. Bilbo was only a step into their bedchambers, standing tense with one hand by his side and the other on the door handle. He watched Thorin carefully, his mouth in a hard line as he waited for a reply.  
Thorin felt guilt gripping his stomach. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, and pulled back his shoulders, raising himself up to give the illusion that he was not afraid. He saw me, he thought to himself. He saw me. The thought circled his mind over and over. He tried to open his mouth to speak but words were lost and his tongue was dry. How could he possibly explain?

"Nothing," the dwarf decided to grumble, sounding rather too defensive. Bilbo would not be convinced.  
"Thorin, what were you doing?" Bilbo asked more assertively, moving into the room and closed the door, checking it was fully shut before walking swiftly over to Thorin.  
The dwarf felt panicked. He glanced down at the floor and took a step back, bumping into the table on which his mirror was placed. It rattled and the mirror began to tip, but before Thorin could turn, Bilbo had leapt forward and caught it. Thorin's heart thumped loudly in his chest. He swallowed, eyes flicking between the table top and Bilbo's face as the hobbit put the mirror back perfectly in its place. Thorin did not move or make a sound, but tilted his head down in shame when Bilbo finally noticed what the dwarf had been dreading.

Scattered on the table were hairs. Long, waved, grey and black hairs. They covered the tabletop and were scattered on the floor like a carpet.  
Thorin kept his breath steady as possible as Bilbo reached out slowly and tentatively, picking one up between his finger and thumb. The hobbit held it close to his face, examining it before looking down and noticing just how many there were under his feet.  
Thorin did not let his face change- not when Bilbo's eyebrows pulled together in concern, and not when the hobbit began running his fingers over the table and collecting the strands into a pile. Thorin was unsure of what to say, how to make Bilbo understand. He saw me.

"What is this?" Bilbo's voice pierced the quiet. He looked up at the dwarf, his face full of worry, absent-mindedly fiddling with the strands between his fingers. Again Thorin opened his mouth, but the words choked his throat.  
"None of your concern," he growled, hoping the faked anger would stop the conversation from going further, but Thorin knew Bilbo too well. And Bilbo knew Thorin. The dwarf turned away, and moved swiftly over to the writing desk where on late evenings he and Bilbo would sit writing, recalling the memories of their travels. He fell into the chair with his back to the hobbit, sitting low, legs spread apart, one hand covering his face. He was not ready yet to tell anyone, not even his husband, he thought to himself. Neither of them made a sound, an uncomfortable silence lay thick in the room.

Thorin was suddenly aware of Bilbo's close presence, and a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. The halfling had a developed quite the habit of moving silently whenever and wherever he wanted.  
"Why were you doing that?"  
Bilbo's voice was so calm and attentive, as if he were speaking to a child. Thorin could not help but shuffle in his seat, a sickly feeling overtaking his stomach.  
"Why were you...Why were you pulling out your hair?" Bilbo half whispered, keeping his hand firm on the dwarfs shoulder. Thorin wanted to act as though it had not happened, lie as though he did not know what the hobbit was referring to. He wanted Bilbo to leave him.  
Except that was also the last thing wanted.

He took a wavering breath, and put his hand over Bilbo's, stroking his soar fingertips over the hobbits knuckles. He suddenly felt very old and very tired.  
"When..." the dwarf faulted, not sure how to begin. He lifted his head and turned it as if it were a heavy piece of stone, but he could not crane it to see Bilbo's face. Probably for the best, he thought. He looked down at his lap and softly spoke.  
"You understand that the length and the braiding of hair is important to dwarves. My nephews have told you." He smirked at the memory of Fili and Kili enthusiastically describing dwarf culture to Bilbo, on a day when the hobbit had expressed his wish for a haircut. Bilbo did not make a sound from behind him, so Thorin licked his lips and continued.

"When I was a boy, I was told about a illness that a number of my folk have, but that is never spoken of publicly. There is a shame surrounding it, because to purposefully damage ones own hair is to attack who you are. And dwarves are proud, proud creatures." He decided it better to sit up straight, so released Bilbo's hand, but when the hobbit let go of his shoulder he felt less brave. He turned in his seat and faced the hobbit, offering an open palm for him to take. In his mind Thorin pleaded for Bilbo to take it, not certain he could finish without the halfling being close to him. To Thorin's surprise, the hobbit walked past the outstretched hand and moved around to the front of the chair. He sat himself on the desk, and leant forward with hands on knees, now completely face to face with the dwarf. He nodded his head, urging Thorin to continue but it suddenly became difficult to put it into words.

A stream of phrases began to flow through his mind all sounding harsh and filthy, but correct. A fearful anger started to grow in his chest, his hands began to shake, his breathing quickened. He could not sit, he had to move. Thorin rose from the chair, leaning in close to Bilbo so that the hobbits knees pressed against his hips. He put his hands on the desk either side of Bilbo's legs, trying to control the shaking. He held his face close to the halflings, able to feel his warm breath on his cheeks, but Thorin's eyes were focused Bilbo's shirt collar.

"It is a sickness," he spat. "A madness. It drives your thoughts and controls you 'til your fingertips are scorched as though by candle flame and your body is left pin pricked and bleeding." He closed his eyes. The table creaked and Thorin felt soft, warm hands on either side of his face, but he continued. "You can distract yourself for a while but it will always return. The urge is too strong, you cannot fight it."  
He could feel it at that moment, like an itch, an irritating itch that he would not be rid of. His head ached and his face felt as though it had been stung. Thorin did not know how long he had stood at the mirror before Bilbo came. The amount of hair strewn on the table and floor did not mean anything- that much damage could have been done in minutes or could have been hours, depending on the dwarf’s mood. 

"There's something else, isn't there?" Bilbo asked quietly, stroking a thumb along Thorin's cheekbone. His palms seemed to sooth the pain from where Thorin had been tugging at his beard. He knows me too well, the dwarf thought to himself with a sad smile. He leant forward, pressing his forehead against Bilbo's. This was the worst part. The part that he never wanted to admit.  
"I... It feels..."  
Shame seemed to fill his body whole and force the words up and out of his throat, syllables falling heavy like stones.  
"It feels good."

For a moment Bilbo stayed completely still. Thorin could not even hear or feel the hobbits breath. He did not like the quiet, the sudden tense hold of the hands on his face. He slowly slid his hands from the desk and stepped back, Bilbo’s hands were left hanging in the air. The awful sickness felt like a creature, crawling up from Thorin’s stomach, clawing his chest and strangling tight around his throat.  
Bilbo dropped one hand, but ran the other through his hair and down the back of his neck, rubbing it as he shook his head. The hobbit sighed deeply, looking over at the mirror. He opened his mouth and looked at his lap, opening his palm and gesturing as he spoke.  
“But… but it hurts you,” he said, sounding shocked. He looked up, wide eyes full of what Thorin took for fear. This is what the dwarf had wanted to avoid. He felt guilty for putting Bilbo through this, for having him worry, for having him see his husband this way. Bilbo was strong, Thorin knew that. He had seen how strong the little hobbit could be. But Thorin was a dwarf, he was the king. He had to be strong for them both sometimes. And that was why he did it.

“It does hurt.” Thorin crossed his arms and began pacing. “But a good hurt. Like…”  
Like an overflowing river bursting its banks. A burst of light in the dark. The first breath after drowning. He tried to find the right words, but none of them sat well on his tongue. Thorin turned and strode over to Bilbo, almost charging straight into the desk. He locked his gaze with Bilbo’s and took the hobbits hand’s in his own, holding them as tightly as he dare. The hobbit was his husband, he had to tell the truth- what relationship was this if he could not simply say how he felt?

“You remember when the eagles left us? You remember how the sun set when I took you in my arms? But before that, just as I awoke. Just as I awoke what did you feel?” He spoke urgently but quietly, hoping desperately this would sound as he wanted it to. He bore into Bilbo’s eyes with his own, and intertwined their fingers together.  
“Relieved. I was so relieved.” Bilbo answered quickly, almost sighing the answer. Thorin nodded sharply.  
“That is it. Relief. A painful but pleasurable sense of relief. As though any troubles and weights from the day have been lifted from me. Now, I do not dare say that this is remotely comparable to what you felt at that moment. But I too was relieved. When I opened my eyes and saw you were safe I was relieved from my worry over your safety, and the pain of this causes a relief far, far less wonderful. But you can understand it now, can you not?”

It seemed insane to explain it this way, but Thorin saw that his husband knew. Bilbo looked away from the dwarf’s eyes, and he looked over every inch of his face. He tugged on hand free from Thorin’s grip lifted it to the dwarf’s face, stroking the thumb on a thinned area of beard on Thorin’s jaw, where the king had been unconsciously pulling all day. Bilbo leant forward and kissed it as gently as he could. Thorin parted his lips slightly and closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss which he felt had ended far too quickly.  
“It is not shameful,” Bilbo said.  
“What?” Thorin asked, surprised by the comment. Bilbo leant further forward and rested his head on the dwarf’s shoulder, so Thorin stepped forward and the two put their arms around each other. Bilbo parted his legs so that Thorin could lean against the table and pull the hobbit closer to him.  
“You work too hard,” he said matter-of-factly. “You care for your people and your kingdom, but it is too much for any being. You do not know how to handle the stress. You need something that take’s that away. But do not worry.” Bilbo tightened his arms around Thorin, burying his face in his shoulder.  
“I can help you.”

A sense of relief flooded through him now, better than anything he had felt while standing in front of that mirror. He clutched Bilbo’s back and kissed his neck, breathing his smell and his presence, so glad that someone finally knew.  
He still felt guilty and ashamed.  
But he felt stronger now.

He can help me.

**Author's Note:**

> Trichotillomania is a disorder that causes someone to pull out their hair, usually triggered by stress and anxiety.  
> This might seem weird to a lot of people, but I have it.  
> And I often imagine what it would be like if my favourite character shared this problem, because if I find out a celebrity I admire has anxiety then I instantly love them more.  
> I wonder if anyone else feels like this?


End file.
